She Just Knew That Even When You

I Mean, When The World Comes For Your Children, With The Knives Out, It's Your Job To Stand In The Way.

She Breathed Deeply Of The Scent Of Decaying Fiction, Disintegrating History, And Forgotten Verse, And She Observed For The First Time That A Room Full Of Books Smelled Like Dessert: A Sweet Snack Made Of Figs, Vanilla, Glue, And Cleverness.

I'll Take The Shooting. I'm Used To That. I've Been Shot A Few Times In The Past, And I Guess I Can Stand It, Again.

I Will Be Waiting By Candlelight In Our Tree House Of The Mind.

Pick A Sin We Can Both Live With, Is What I Ask.